


What he doesn't know

by chaos_monkey



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Exhibitionism, Jaskier has no idea, M/M, Masturbation, Non-consensual Exhibitionism, One-Sided Kink, One-Sided Relationship, Piss and Come, Possessive Behavior, Scent Kink, Scenting, Urination, inappropriate use of bathtubs, possessive geralt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:48:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24499693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaos_monkey/pseuds/chaos_monkey
Summary: The first time Geralt scented Jaskier was accidental.The other times were not.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 47
Kudos: 578





	What he doesn't know

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the tags - this fic is about Geralt scent-marking Jaskier without Jaskier's knowledge or consent.

The first time it happened was an accident. 

They were sharing a small room at an inn, but Jaskier was off on one of his conquests and Geralt was enjoying the peace and quiet while taking a long soak in a still-steaming bath. Eyes closed, head pillowed comfortably on a folded up towel wedged between his neck and the edge of the wooden tub, he was idly touching himself under the water, just enough to keep his cock half-hard. He wasn’t expecting the bard back before the small hours of the night, if that; and was in no hurry to get himself off or get out of the tub just yet. 

A familiar warmth eventually began pooling slowly in his belly as well, alongside the quietly simmering heat of arousal. With a relaxed hum and a little shiver of anticipation, Geralt circled the pad of his thumb lightly over the tip of his cock and let that tingling warmth go. The soft pressure, slightly hotter than the water around him, flowed against his thumb as he let a brief jet of piss out into the bath. It wasn’t particularly powerful, the need nowhere near urgent. He’d relieved himself earlier outside; but the warmth and the water and the general state of relaxation always made him want to let go that little bit more. 

And besides, he enjoyed it. 

His cock firmed up further, the innately forbidden act sending a soft swirl of excitement through his core, and he let go again with a sigh. Longer this time, palming the head of his cock to feel it coming out before giving himself a long, slow stroke down to the very base of his shaft while he pissed. He didn’t often have the chance to indulge in this anymore, now that Jaskier travelled with him; only rarely getting the opportunity to not only bathe in private, but also in a tub unsoiled by one type of monster filth or another _and_ with a bucket or two of fresh water to rinse himself off after. Just because he enjoyed it in the moment didn’t mean he wanted to smell the lingering scent of his own urine on himself for days afterwards, faint though it might be from being so diluted in the bathwater. 

It didn’t last long, the tingling warmth of release becoming indistinguishable from the tingling warmth of arousal as Geralt stroked himself, cock quickly hardening fully in his grip. He hadn’t brought himself off in a few days now, and hadn’t had coin to buy any temporary affections in much, much longer than that; so it took only a few minutes of lazily fisting his cock before his balls drew up tight and his shaft throbbed hotter and harder in his hand and he spilled his seed out into the water as well with a low groan. 

After few minutes of luxuriating in the afterglow of release, Geralt heaved himself to his feet, grabbed the bucket of cool, fresh water, and poured it over his chest and shoulders to rinse off. Stepping out of the tub, he had just wrapped a towel around his waist when the door opened and Jaskier walked in with a brooding pout on his face. 

Heaving a dramatic sigh, Jaskier wordlessly flung himself onto one of the narrow beds to stare morosely up at the ceiling. A sliver of embarrassment curled briefly through Geralt’s stomach, until he reminded himself that Jaskier’s human senses were nowhere near acute enough for the bard to notice the faint, warm scent of piss and come hanging in the air. Pointedly ignoring Jaskier— the bard’s amorous exploits must have gone sour for him to be back so soon and in such a self-pitying mood, and Geralt really didn’t want to hear about it— Geralt turned his back to dry off before pulling on a pair of clean shorts, mildly annoyed at his own embarrassment but grateful that at least Jaskier hadn’t come back five minutes sooner and interrupted him before he’d finished his little… indulgence. 

He heard rustling and the creak of the wooden bed frame behind him as Jaskier stood up again, and then nearly swallowed his tongue at a quiet splash and Jaskier’s voice. “Ah, lovely. It’s still warm. Well at least _something_ went right tonight, I suppose.” 

“What are you doing?” 

Jaskier looked up from unbuttoning his shirt, a confused furrow in his brow as he looked down at Geralt’s undershorts and back to his face again. “Taking a bath, obviously. Were you… not done with it, Geralt?” 

_You can’t,_ was on the tip of Geralt’s tongue before he realized the bard wouldn’t rest until he knew _why._ And purposely pissing the bathwater was absolutely not something Geralt was about to admit to doing. 

So instead, he just grunted and climbed into bed, pretending to go straight sleep so Jaskier wouldn’t talk to him. But he couldn’t stop listening to the sounds of the bard quickly undressing and climbing into the tub with a splash and a long sigh; the occasional sloshes of water against the wooden sides of the tub; Jaskier humming quietly to himself, completely unaware it wasn’t _just_ water he was bathing in. 

It was fine, Geralt told himself, facing the wall to hide the faint blush he could feel in his cheeks. It was an accident, a simple matter of unfortunate timing. He would forget about it easily enough, and Jaskier would never even know. 

What Geralt had somehow failed to think about was the fact that he would be able to smell himself on the bard for days afterward. 

It wasn’t strong, just a light scent of _him_ clinging to Jaskier. But it kept catching him by surprise all over again every single time it wafted off the bard while they walked or slept, their bedrolls close for safety. And it awakened something almost… primal inside Geralt, something deep and possessive that set his cock thickening and the feeling of _Mine_ shivering through him every time he smelled it. 

Which was ridiculous; Jaskier only traveled with him for convenience. It wasn’t as though they had ever even fucked. And yet every evening, Geralt found himself carefully arranging their bedrolls so that Jaskier would spend the night upwind of him as much as possible, then waiting until the bard was asleep before sliding a hand down to his own already stiff cock and getting himself off hard and fast with that scent filling his nose and images of marking the bard _properly_ filling his mind. 

It eventually, inevitably wore off, to Geralt’s quiet disappointment; though the fantasies the event had sparked stuck with him long after his scent had faded from Jaskier’s skin. 

* * *

The second time it happened was not an accident. 

Months later, while relaxing in a different bathtub in a different inn with the sound of Jaskier’s idle chatter washing over him in an oddly comforting, familiar way, Geralt abruptly realized there was no reason he couldn’t just… scent Jaskier again if he wanted to. 

And he _did_ want to, his breath hitching in his chest and his cock twitching with interest, already slightly filled from the pleasure of being in the warm water and immediately stiffening up further at the thought of marking the bard as his again. Forcing his breathing to steady, Geralt cracked his eyes open. Jaskier didn’t appear to have noticed anything. He was still sitting cross-legged on the mattress with his back to Geralt while he waited for his turn in the tub, absorbed in his writing and bent over the little table next to the double bed. 

The double bed that they would be sharing tonight, because the inn only had this one room with its one bed left and Jaskier apparently wasn’t in the mood to seek out company tonight. 

Keeping his eyes on Jaskier and his movements slow despite the heavy thudding of his heart in his chest, Geralt slid one hand down his own thigh to palm his thickened cock under the water. He almost twitched at his own touch, oversensitive with anticipation and nerves about what he was seriously considering doing with Jaskier right there in the room, completely unaware and planning to climb into the water after him. 

Squeezing his shaft in one hand, Geralt brought the other down to circle his palm over the head of his cock. He started stroking himself slowly at the same time, careful to move only his hands and not his arms so Jaskier wouldn’t hear what he was doing. Normally this wouldn’t be enough stimulation to make himself come, the touch far too slow and gentle; but the sheer thrill of it had tension rapidly coiling hotter and tighter in Geralt’s gut. He kept his eyes fixed on Jaskier, ready to stop in a heartbeat if the bard turned towards him— but he didn’t, and Geralt came _hard,_ in utter silence, his whole core tensing and his jaw clenching as he spilled into the water above his tight fist. 

Slightly shaky from the unexpectedly intense release, Geralt shifted carefully, keeping one hand on his cock as he relaxed again. A minute or two later, his cock had softened enough to let out a gentle stream of piss, the subtle wash of heat flowing over his lower belly in the still-warm water. He didn’t stay there much longer, standing and grabbing a towel as soon as it had died down again just a moment or two later. Jaskier finally looked around at the loud splashing and hopped to his feet, stripping and climbing into the tub after him; and Geralt fell asleep that night with Jaskier curled up beside him on the bed and already smelling like _his_ again. 

* * *

The third time it happened, and all the times after that, it was a habit. 

Geralt didn’t do it every time they stayed at an inn; far from it. More often than not, a bath was just a bath. Either they had two rooms or two bathtubs, Jaskier spent the night somewhere else or happened to get in the tub first; or bathing was a simple necessity after a hunt and pleasure was the farthest thing from Geralt’s mind at the time. 

But whenever he had both the opportunity and the inclination to scent the bard, Geralt did. He didn’t always use both ways like those first two times; typically only one or the other. Getting himself off unobtrusively with Jaskier in the room was often impossible, so while he came in the tub when he could, he most often made do with just pissing in the water a little when he was done bathing. Not enough for Jaskier to notice it, but enough that Geralt would be able to smell it on him for at least a day or two afterwards. At first he always waited until Jaskier’s back was turned, getting out of the tub almost immediately after he finished; but one evening, Jaskier turned to talk to him right when he started to let go. 

And instead of cutting it off, Geralt just… let it happen anyway. 

He’d gotten so hard so fast from that, feeling the warmth spreading around his thighs as he pissed with Jaskier’s eyes on him and knowing the bard had absolutely no idea what he was doing, he’d had to shift casually in the tub to hide his full-blown erection _and_ stay in the bath a whole lot longer than he’d meant to while he waited for his cock to soften again. 

After that, he started purposely waiting to let go until Jaskier was looking at him, or at least facing in his general direction, sometimes pushing out tiny, brief spurts of piss over the course of an entire conversation before climbing out to let Jaskier get in and unknowingly soak himself in Geralt’s fresh scent. A few times, he even stood up while piss was still trickling slowly from his cock, running warm down his leg right in front of the bard’s eyes but indistinguishable from the streams of bathwater coursing down his body along with it. That, he only dared do when he knew he could get himself quickly covered with a towel before Jaskier could see him getting instantly, achingly hard from it. 

Geralt wasn’t bothered anymore when he couldn’t rinse off afterwards, either, the faint smell of his piss on himself no longer offensive when Jaskier smelled of it as well. In a strange way, it made it more intimate; almost as if it was something they shared, rather than just something Geralt did to Jaskier without him knowing. 

… Almost. 

Much as he liked that idea, Geralt was under no illusions whatsoever that whatever this… fixation was that he had, of furtively scenting Jaskier, marking the bard as _his—_ and getting off on it whenever he could— it was entirely one-sided; not to mention completely, unquestionably _wrong._ He just didn’t care enough to stop. 

And anyway, what Jaskier didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Saturated](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26639686) by [WhoopsOK](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoopsOK/pseuds/WhoopsOK)




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